Days, Nights & Contractors
by Kaesteranya
Summary: Assorted drabbles for the different characters in Darker than Black and their relationships. There will, on occasion, be a flamingly gay piece. Also note that the rating has changed -- recently added something kinda porny.
1. Cure for the Itch

**Cure for the itch**

_Dedicated to my friend Khursten. She's the one to blame for giving me this brainfart._

"Do you always do that?"

"…Eh?"

Mao lifted his head, sending Hei a curious look. BK-201 was looking back at him, staring with an intensity that he usually reserved for their missions.

"Er. Do what?"

"That." Mao paused mid-action, suddenly too aware of his own habits. "Scratch between your ears. Do you have fleas?"

"OF COURSE NOT."

"Ah… so, you just do that?"

"Well, yes," Mao huffed. "I'm a cat, you know."

"Ah. Hm."

Mao was beginning to find Hei's stare a bit disconcerting, but decided to ignore it. The Contractor's eccentricities were well known to him, and he decided to count that as yet another abnormality in Hei's behavior. This did not stop him, however, from protesting rather vehemently at being grabbed from behind and lifted up and into Hei's lap.

"O-OI!"

Hei, deaf to Mao's yowling, stretched the cat-Contractor out and proceeded to scratch Mao's belly. Although nothing changed in Hei's expression, Mao had the distinct and unpleasant feeling that the Contractor was making fun of him. He had half the mind to rectify the situation up until Hei reached a particularly nice spot, and even the idea of protest suddenly seemed ludicrous.

Yin appeared a few minutes later to find Mao purring away on Hei's lap as the latter diligently stroked his fur and scratched him between the ears. Yin blinked, poked Mao a few times, and then turned on her heel, returning to her shop.


	2. El la chiamano estate

**E la chiamano estate!**

_Translation: "And they call it summer!"_

"GAAAAAAAAH! IT'S. SO. HOT!"

April downed another can of beer in a single gulp before tugging July's ear; her signal for the boy to continue fanning her. November 11 made a vaguely sympathetic sound from behind his newspaper. He turned to the business section and checked on how their motherland was faring against the Japanese market.

"Aren't you annoyed? Do something about this! Turn on the air-con! Gaaaaah!"

"Cost-cutting. I'll turn it on tomorrow."

"I'll have MELTED by then!"

"Ah. How unfortunate."

And November 11 turned the page. April glared at him (or more specifically, the Sports section of the newspaper that the man was reading) and leaped to her feet, stalking towards the case of beer in the corner. She fished one out, marched over, and thrust it over the top of the newspaper and directly in front of November 11's face.

"Blow."

"…Excuse me?"

"Are you _daft? _I said blow!"

November 11 frowned before complying. His breath frosted the can's surface over. April turned away with a huff, and downed that drink just as quickly as she had with the last one.

"I'm going to take a shower!"

"You do that."

April stomped off. July watched the black woman vanish before turning to November 11. The blond man set the papers aside and fixed his gaze on the bathroom door. An ear-splitting screech followed.

"C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-COLD!"

July blinked. November 11 grinned. He lit up a cigarette and went back to reading.

"That was worth it."


	3. The rain my drink

**The rain my drink**

_Spoilers for one of the later episodes of Darker than Black. Nothing big though._

_Title taken from the 31 Days theme for April 21, 2006._

Hei could never figure out why, but Huang always dragged him out to drink at some small ramen stand near the bay after missions that took place on rainy nights. The lady who owned the stand seemed to know him, but Huang never looked like he was in the mood to properly introduce her. Hei never bothered pointing out the uselessness of the habit. Huang wasn't the type to listen to "mindless contractors".

Huang drank like a fish on those nights, and always with this look in his eyes that made him seem like the very monsters that he despised. Sometimes, it would occur to Hei to ask, but before he ever got around to it Huang always tossed down the last shot, threw his change on the counter and left.


	4. Hate blows a bubble of despair

**Hate blows a bubble of despair.**

_Theme date: March 7, 2006._

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"Nn…"

Most days, Mao actually enjoyed his job. Sure, there were more things that one could do if one were human, but freedom had taken on a whole new meaning for him after he had gotten over his loss and adjusted to his significantly altered existence. The main perk was free stuff (food and back scratches) from complete strangers who expected no payback whatsoever, but the real highlight was being able to go places and see things that he wouldn't have ever been able to see with his original body.

"Mm… nn…!!"

Of course, "highlight" was a dangerous word on its own. Seeing and doing crazy things apparently worked both ways for Mao, because the world, most especially for Contractors, wasn't always rosy and full of rainbows and unicorns. In exchange for the privilege of squeezing himself into every conceivable (and a few inconceivable) nook and cranny in the city, Mao was assigned to the inglorious and deceitful job of spying on his closest comrades.

"Aah… a-ah…"

Now the Average Joe on the scene would think that spy work was the best part about the job: Mao himself used to think like that, most especially after his first day of observing Yin and coming out of it with pleasant memories of panty shots and shower stalls. Spying also gave him the chance to know more about Hei. BK-201 was, by far, the most mysterious member of their team, and he was not one to divulge information about himself willingly. Because Mao could spy on him, however, he didn't have to bother with stuff like comradeship.

Mao instantly regretted even _wishing_ to find out more about Hei the moment he climbed unto the Contractor's windowsill. Now he knew (and saw) WAY too much.

"A-ah… please, November, I-I _can't_…"

"Can't what?"

Both Mao and November 11 never managed to find out, because Hei only turned his head and let out something that sounded rather like a whimper, only a lot sexier and huskier than a whimper ought to have sounded. Hei was sprawled on his bed, knees drawn up, panting into his pillow and dressed in nothing but his birthday suit. November 11 was there and just as bare: he also happened to have Hei's legs up and over his shoulders, and a part of him — the nether part — was pressed VERY CLOSE to, maybe even INTO, Hei. The British Contractor was smiling in a way that made Mao fear partially for his life but mostly for the virtue and chastity of the general populace of young men within Hei's age range.

November 11 reached down with one hand, caressing Hei's cock with his fingers. He chuckled when Hei moaned, and used his free hand to keep Hei from covering his mouth. From his vantage point, Mao could see the dark-haired Contractor trembling.

"There's no need to be embarrassed. Just enjoy this" he heard November 11 whisper, and watched as the blond man cupped Hei's chin in his hand. Hei wasn't coherent enough to manage anything beyond a shake of his head. This, November 11 ignored. "Don't worry," he went on to say as he moved in for a kiss. "I'll do all the rest."

Sometimes, Mao really, really hated being a cat.


	5. Your heaving chest

**Your heaving chest**

_Theme date: November 3, 2008._

_This is something of a sequel to my piece "Hate blows a bubble of despair", and somewhat connected to "Cure for the itch"._

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Hei was being oddly nice to him again. Mao figured that he should have been alarmed, but it was very hard to resist BK-201 when he started scratching him in all the right places. Feline instincts always seemed to outweigh rational human senses those days.

"I noticed you watching me the other day."

…_Uh-oh._ Mao shook off the drowsiness and looked up at Hei only to find the young man watching him with an unnervingly calm expression on his face. Suddenly, the cat-Contractor was only too aware of the fact that Hei had him quite solidly locked in his grip.

"Care to tell me why you were watching me and November?"

"Um… er… well… duh…"

Hei blinked. "I'm waiting, Mao."

Mao did the first thing that came to mind: he put on the cutest, most pitiful begging look that he could possibly muster. Hei's eyes flashed.

It would be a week before Mao could lick his own fur without getting zapped.


	6. Force majeure

**Force majeure.**

_The title from this is taken from the 31 Days theme for May 25, 2007. It may be treated as connected to my piece "Companion", but it can actually stand well enough on its own, I guess._

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Something had changed between them. There was something else beyond the orders from the top, beyond the blood sports, beyond the rather personal obsession that both of them seemed to have in gutting each other then fucking each other, or fucking each other then gutting each other: the order was dependent on the circumstances of their latest run-in. It would have been good to name it, to declare it for what it was, but Contractors tended to lose things the moment they discovered what they were. Contractors were meant to live and thrive in gray, and in silence.

The prelude that time around was a negotiation in the penthouse suite of some four-star hotel – MI6 had assigned November 11 to 'negotiate' with the group in question, and the Organization had assigned BK-201 to eliminate the group's leader. Shots went off, furniture froze, people died, and when it was finished BK-201 was bent over the dresser top, framed by shards of glass and pieces of his mask, pinned between varnished wood and November 11. His knife was embedded in the mirror in front of them, multiplying the image of them pressed together.

"Checkmate," November 11 whispered, smiling, into BK-201's ear. He only shoved the Chinese agent back down when he struggled, pressing one gloved hand deep into the part where he had broken his arm and another into the bullet wound on his shoulder. BK-201's gasp almost seemed like a sound he'd make in bed. "Does this thrill you? I didn't think you were into this kind of thing."

"H… hurry up!"

"No, I think I'll take it slow for now." The British agent ran one finger, knife-like, down BK-201's back, and snagged near the Chinese agent's pants. "Call it payback for the last time."

Struggling was their foreplay, and near rape was their status quo for coming together. BK-201 always cursed him in the beginning, but by the middle of it he was sobbing for more, pushing the pace, daring November to relinquish his control. November, to his credit, never did, no matter how long they went at it or how deep he was buried inside the only Contractor whom he could face seriously and wonder if their next fight would be their last.

After they were finished, Hei returned to his empty apartment to wash the memory of fingers off his skin and November 11 drank a bottle of Bourbon and lit up another cigarette.


	7. Anarchy at its most orderly

**Anarchy at its most orderly**

_The title is taken from the 31 Days theme for July 25, 2007._

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An average day for November 11 starts with the sound of April invading his apartment with July in tow, slightly hungover from all the beer she's been chugging and rather imperiously demanding that he get off his arse and get out of bed. He gets up, not because she is asking him to, but because he is pretty sure that she's going to start breaking things and he doesn't feel like filing in a note for new furniture with their superiors and explaining to them, in painstaking detail, why he needed all of that junk. July certainly isn't going to stop her from getting destructive. He really doesn't do much of his own accord unless they're out on the field.

He makes French toast for all of them to eat, serving it with a jam that he makes himself in between missions and whenever the right fruits are in season. April, of course, is not exactly as appreciative as she should be just yet, but he pins it at a huge overabundance of hangover-induced migraine. He serves her another bottle of beer (because there's no better way to get rid of a hangover then to take more booze), then puts some of the toast on a plate. He rounds over to the sitting area and plops the plate on the floor beside July, who is, by now, staring down at coloring books the way normal-ish little boys would stare down at dead birds (read: with this blank, bordering on morbid sort of fascination). He pats July on the head and goes off to fetch the morning newspaper.

April is alive again after she's had two more bottles beyond the one he gave to her, and is alternately bitching or railing about their job with the Service. November 11 flips from section to section of the paper, reading nothing beyond the articles whose titles vaguely interest him, enjoying the cadence of his partner's voice and the sound of July's crayons scribbling color over newsprint paper.


	8. Same time, same place

**Same time, same place.**

_The title of the fic is taken from the 31 Days theme for October 9, 2008._

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If there is one thing that Mao can be certain about his teammate, it is that Hei wakes up at 6:00 AM on the dot, spends exactly fifteen minutes performing all the regular morning rituals, and proceeds to cook breakfast enough to feed a whole damned army, which he will later consume completely on his own in less than an hour after everything has been prepared. Mao, as he is much more than just an amazingly fat cat with a dinky red bell collar, is smart enough to slink in and eat directly off one of the serving plates because he knows that Hei is not going to chase him away. Maybe send him a flat look that's enough to make a lot of their targets piss in their pants a little (especially when Hei's got the whole electricity thing going on), but Mao is not affected by it in the least. They may not be friends but they are teammates, and the trouble with teammates is that they're best left alive for them to do you any good.

Hei's ritual after eating five times more than the average man is to give the beaten up old television set in his room a little zap in order to kick it into shape and watch a little bit of news. Mao, who, by that time, is happily stuffed, slinks around the apartment for a bit before figuring _heck, why not_ and hunches down close to Hei's crossed legs, just close enough to brush the young man's knee with his tail every time it flicks up and lazily sweeps through the air. Hei occasionally indulges him with a scratch behind the ears (Mao used to tell himself that he didn't like it, but who is he kidding? Sometimes, he's more feline than he is human), but his eyes never leave the screen.

They are out the door a little before lunch and off to complete Hei's last ritual before he becomes BK-201, which involves buying some bread at the convenience store down the street and heading to Rin's stall. The girl doesn't thank them, only glances up once, glances down at the bread, then reaches into the bag and picking out one of the pieces. Hei lingers outside of her shop with his own piece. Mao curls up on the bench beside him, yawning a cat's yawn. A nap is in order. They will have another mission tonight – they have one every night – but for the moment, the day is theirs.


	9. The Angels can only get leftovers today

**The Angels can only get leftovers today.**

_Takes place during the Havoc Arc of the anime. The title for this piece is taken from the 31 Days theme for January 27, 2007._

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He has seen one too many people like her before – a handful of strangers handed the same short stick that he had been, and only too many comrades, with hollow faces and hollow eyes. He has never run from anything before (retreat is not in a Contractor's vocabulary once the orders are in, and especially not in his), but he finds himself flinching, just a little, whenever her gaze slices up, with the slowness and precision of a surgical knife, to meet with his own.

"...Hungry."

"Ah."

It's not cold in the room but she's been hunched over at that couch for hours on end, thin arms cradling even thinner knees, bony hands tracing patterns and kanji that only she could read. He fires up the stove, tosses the rice. She tilts her head to the sound of nonexistent music.

"Here," he says, roughly two hours later. He sits in front of her, setting the plate between them. Those eyes again. He looks down, and notes the way she's fumbling with that spoon. He moves to help her eat without a word.

As his thumb brushes her cheek, and later, as his lips touch her own and taste saliva and half-burnt curry, he wonders if she's ever been warm, or if she's ever been alive in the first place. From the fact that she does not blink, even as his tongue slips into her mouth/his weight pushes hers against the couch/his hands encircle her tiny wrists, he already knows the answer.


	10. Dreams of the impossible

**Dreams of the impossible.**

_The title is taken from Prompt #13 over at the 52 Flavors community. If you don't know who Amber is, then this whole fic is a spoiler._

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Amber had already known, of course, that she was never going to get what she wanted. Hei had always been about the unattainable, be it with the things he believed in, or the war they were fighting – he was always looking off somewhere past where she was, which happened to be standing right in front of him, right within his line of vision. Even when the world was falling apart all around them, even when they were on the battlefield and down in those trenches and had nothing but each other's warmth to take comfort in, he never really saw her for who she was and what she was trying to offer him. She was precious, but precious in the way that most things were precious to him: another thing to fight for and protect, another damsel in distress that he could play hero for but never actually fall in love with.

That he insisted on reaching for nothing short of the stars, however, was exactly what made him so perfectly beautiful. It is, perhaps, at the end of it all, what made her want him.

This game she has set up, it isn't really about the world, or about human beings and Contractors, or about finding the truth, or about going into the Gate. It's about wrapping Hei up in silk of her choosing, drawing him close, reeling him in, making him dance to her song.

Maybe – just maybe – when all of it is over, he'll remember her for it.


End file.
